. i am a plow .

                I stepped onto the stairs of my school’s second floor and each step carried more weight than Atlas holding the world. The dread in my face is not noticed by anyone as it usually is. Out of the corner of my eye I see a couple that seems to have been together forever. Best friends at their locker sharing a bit of gossip or secret. I look up and see my friend calling for me and I manage to put on a smile. “Hey you,” I call back and step quickly to her.  As we continue to class, my smile never falters but of course it never has.

 A plow. My whole life seems like it’s just the same and never worth getting up in the morning for. A plow. Everything has been set out and put together for me; like a present once opened you don’t really want. A never-ending replaying script for my day. I don’t feel in control of my own life. Like a plow, you see now.

Chemistry has never really had much of my attention, so I sit and stare out the glass wall watching absolutely nothing. I think of how I became this depressed, as someone would say, and can’t find a reason that hasn’t had an influence on me.  “Excuse me,” my teacher coughs and I turn my head. While staring intently at me she asks, “What is the conversion factor from grams to moles?” I turn my head back and continue to stare out the wall. “I believe it is one mole over the compound’s molar mass,” chirps my friend. “Very good,” and my teacher takes one final look at me and continues her lesson. I feel like this glass wall, you know it’s there but you look right through it. . .Though that is what I thought until I meet you. . .